Milkshake Money
by MarshmellowBobcat
Summary: In episode 4x06, Logan pays Naval buddy Kevin Ricks for information with a gift card. What he terms "Milkshake Money." But what if there was a little more to it than that?  S4 Fix-It, Logan Lives, Originally Posted for Logan Lives collection: The One With The Gift Card


Logan reads his orders and the word "Istanbul" immediately conjures up images of brilliant textiles littering Aladdin-esq rug markets—complete with smarmy merchants and magical lamps hidden among dusty antiques.

Instead, when he arrives he finds a bustling business industry that's as sleek and modern as anything in New York City.

Now, he stands in front of a glass and steel building and takes a deep breath. The new and trendy may be taking over, but the Old World charm is still there and he's hoping he can eke out a bit of magic from the City of Dreams. He could use three wishes right about now.

He flashes his credentials at a disinterested guard and takes the elevator up.

One brief skirmish with the overly disciplined receptionist and then he's rounding the perimeter of the sixth floor, peering through the glass of every executive office he sees.

He purposefully ignores the willowy receptionist scurrying behind him. Her time would probably be better spent making those appointments she seems to require so desperately, but it's none of his business if she wants to go for a jog in her pencil-thin red heels.

On his second lap, he finally spots blue-streaked hair behind a computer. _There she is. His very own Genie of the Lamp. _

His shoulders loosen a fraction, and he slows his steps. The out-of-breath receptionist takes advantage, leaping in front of him before he can slide open the office door.

"Wait here while I announce you," she manages in a lofty voice as she sails through the door ahead of him. "Miss Mackenzie, you have a visitor."

Logan rolls his eyes and follows. _Completely unnecessary since the door is see through, but whatever helps her sleep at night. _

"Emine," Miss Mackenzie murmurs, looking up from her computer, and Logan notes the flare of heat before Mac's eyes move to his and her eyebrows lift. "Logan."

Logan tilts his chin in acknowledgment.

"Thanks, Emine." Mac stands up to move around the desk. "I got this"

Emine looks between them, uncertain, and Mac squeezes her arm in reassurance as she approaches. Emine gives a reluctant nod, quietly exiting. She's as skinny as her heels and six inches shorter than him but, to Logan's amusement, she shoots him one last warning look on her way out.

_Guess now he knows what actually helps Emine sleep at night. _

"Don't mind her, she's protective." Mac envelopes him in a hug that exudes warmth and suspicion, and it makes him ache for Veronica. He returns it, trying to keep the desperation out of his muscles.

He's praying that his own version of rubbing the lamp, calling up the genie, will pan out. Since the Navy is about to turn him into a ghost, it doesn't seem that far fetched.

Mac clasps his hands, tugging him to the black leather couch and coffee table in the corner of her office, and he forces himself to relax.

"So...this is a surprise." She settles onto the cushions, crossing her legs at the knee. "What's the United States Navy doing in Turkey?"

There's a hair too much intensity in her gaze for the question to be casual, but over the years he and Mac have become very skilled in the art of non-conversation.

He smirks at her. "The United States Navy isn't in Turkey."

"You're on leave and you're spending it with me?" Her palm touches her heart dramatically. "I'm touched."

"No, I'm not on leave." He leans back in his seat, taking comfort in the snark. "Tell me, what's the head of Research and Development for Kane Software doing in Istanbul?" _In a nondescript building, on an unmarked floor._

She pats his knee. "Don't worry, she's not."

They share a measured look, and Mac smiles, calling an unspoken truce. "What can I do for you, Lieutenant?"

_Here it goes. Wish number one. _

"I need your help, Mac."

* * *

Ensign Kevin Ricks can't seem to make himself leave Neptune. It's been two days since the funeral of Lieutenant Logan "Mouth" Echolls and Ricks cannot will his body to pack up, check out, go home.

Not that there's anything for him to do in Neptune. Ricks just wanders the town, half-hoping to run into someone, anyone, from Mouth's life.

For someone to question his presence. To ask _why_ he's still here. But nobody seems to notice. Or if they do, they don't bother to ask. So why bother to tell?

Besides, what would he say? _Sorry for your loss? I miss him, too? I've been a little in love with him since he saved my life in Mukalla and I'm sad, too? _

Nothing seems right.

Today, he walks aimlessly along the beach, his easy gait belying an internal discomfort. Among the drunk and disorderly he feels wrong. Too clean, too somber, too far removed from the carefree revelry of spring break.

He wishes he could have fun, join in. The last time they saw each other, Mouth advised him to "enjoy being alive." He hasn't done much of that lately—or ever really. It's not his natural state and he isn't even sure where to start.

_What do the living do on the beach when they're not half-naked, drinking, or dancing?_

He scans his surroundings and just ahead the answer seems to manifest: a harbinger of hope, a symbol of life. "Amy's."

His hand lightly touches the pocket where he keeps his wallet. Maybe he'll start with a milkshake.

Half an hour later, he decides enjoying life is overrated. What's there to enjoy about queuing thirty minutes for what is sure to be a mediocre milkshake?

To be fair, it probably would have gone faster if the scrawny blonde behind the counter had stopped crying long enough to move with any semblance of efficiency.

She scoops and sobs. Blends and bawls. It's fascinating, and a little terrifying.

By the time Ricks makes it to the front of the line, her face is red and puffy and one blue contact is slightly askew from all the eye rubbing. But at least she's not wailing. He'd like to keep it that way.

He reads her name tag, dials up the charm, and smiles. "Ruby, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I'll have—"_ Shit. _

_He had thirty minutes to think, and he forgot to figure his order? Enjoying life. Definitely overrated. _

Clearly giving Ruby even two _seconds_ to think is a mistake, because tears begin to well. Before they can spill, he blurts, "I'll have a chocolate and peanut butter milkshake. Large."

She blinks rapidly and dabs her eyes with the sleeve of her black and white striped shirt as she turns toward the blender.

Relieved, Ricks pulls out his wallet, and removes a gift card. _The_ gift card.

_One_ _life-affirming milkshake, courtesy of Mouth, coming up. _

Ruby returns, plunking down his shake with a watery smile. "That'll be $7.23." Her voice waivers and Ricks sends her a bolstering wink to cover his grimace.

He slides the card in the reader and… nothing happens. He frowns and tries again. Nothing. _Huh_.

He assumed Mouth paid him with a regifted card to keep the transaction untraceable. He also assumed there was actually money on it.

He glances up to find Ruby staring at him, her eyes swimming. _Oh no. _Digging out a ten dollar bill, he throws it on the counter, shouting, "Keep the change," over his shoulder as he hustles out of the ice cream parlor.

Taking up residence on the nearest bench he examines the card. It looks normal. But no way Lieutenant Money Bags shorts him.

Flipping it, Ricks squints at the back of the card.

_Well, I'll be damned. _

He pulls his cell phone from his pocket and Googles the address for Mars Investigations.

* * *

"Miz Mars?"

Veronica stiffens and swings the receptionist's chair away from the filing cabinet.

She takes in the man's close-cut hairstyle, the rigid set to his shoulders, and narrows in on his face. One of Logan's Navy buddies. She remembers him from the funeral.

"Mrs. Echolls-Mars," she corrects sharply.

Veronica has spent the last week in uncertainty. She's not sure if she can ever return to the apartment she shared with Logan. She's not sure if she will ever do more at MI than file paperwork. She's not sure if she'll ever feel anything more than empty.

But she's damned sure she married Lieutenant Logan Echolls last week.

Her guest stands straighter, but his face softens. "Yes, Mrs. Echolls, ma'am."

She magnanimously ignores the "ma'am."

"Ensign Ricks. What are you still doing in town?"

A startled expression crosses his face, and he takes an oddly eager breath. Then he seems to think better of it, pressing his lips together and giving a small shake of his head.

"Mouth, ah, Logan... I helped him out with the Maloof blackmailer."

She tries to summon an inkling of curiosity for his hesitation, but it won't come. Old Veronica would have pressed. _What were you going to say? You can tell me. _New Veronica just doesn't care.

"Okay." Veronica nods.

"Well, he paid me with an invalid gift card."

The crassness of the request should probably shock her. Maybe the wizard has a cure for jaded. She moves briskly, pushing out of the chair, standing to reach for her purse at the far edge of the desk.

"How much do we owe you?" she asks as her fingers close around her checkbook.

Ensign Ricks stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. Before she can tase or shoot him, he replies, "No. That's not why I'm here."

He drops his hand and searches his pocket, emerging with a, presumably void, gift card.

Taking it from him, she inspects it. Nothing out of the ordinary. She looks up at him, and he's staring back at her intently.

"Read the back," he instructs.

She's at the edge of her patience, but decides to humor him. Why not? It's not like she has anything better to do. And this is the first time in two days she hasn't contemplated putting her head in the oven.

She reads the standard legal language.

_Protect this gift card and treat it as you would cash… not valid until activated...lost or stolen cards cannot be replaced…for gift card balance, information or—_

Veronica inhales sharply, her hand begins to shake. She looks up at Ricks again and he's still watching her carefully. She reads it a second time.

_For gift card balance, information or in case of my death, please give to Veronica Mars. _

The rest goes on as normal: _card cannot be used to make pre-authorized or recurring bill payments..._blah blah blah.

She can't tear her eyes away. She has to read it two more times before she lets herself hope, four more before she lets herself believe.

With a heavy thud, she drops blindly back into her chair.

"Mrs. Echolls? Veronica?" Ricks' voice reaches her through the fog. "What does it mean?"

She shakes off the daze, still staring down at the card, turning it in her hands, squinting at every inch. "I'm not sur—."

She stops abruptly. _The account number. _It's a digit short. It should be sixteen numbers, but it's only fifteen.

"It's a phone number," she mutters. An international phone number.

Ricks places his cell phone in front of her. "Use mine, it's secure. It's a burner, not Navy issued."

A spark of curiosity ignites and she's so shocked she fumbles the phone. Shaking it off, she shoots Ricks a grateful glance, types the number in with forceful precision, and holds her breath.

An automated recording picks up. "Please enter your PIN number followed by the pound sign."

_PIN number. _She glares at the card, but it reveals no clues. Frustrated, she hangs up and rubs at her temples, forces herself to _think. _

"What happened?" Ricks demands.

_Pin...pin… pin… _

"Veronica?"

_Pin...pin… pin… _

She snaps straight in her seat. "Get me a loaf of bread from the kitchenette."

To his credit, he doesn't blink, just spins in a graceful move that would make Logan proud and rushes to the pantry.

While he does that, she rummages through the desk for an X-Acto knife and the Square credit card reader Mac _insisted_ any respectable small business should own.

Veronica hooks the reader up to Rick's phone, surprised she doesn't have to download the app onto it.

"Where'd you get this phone?" she demands when Ricks returns. She swipes the card and gets an error message. Someone erased the card information.

"Mouth." He hands her the Wonder Bread.

_Of course. _

Out of sheer nervousness, she talks as she works. "A while back we had a credit card fraud case. Turns out a card's magnetic stripe contains three tracks of data."

She removes the twist tie from the bread and smooths it flat, laying it over the very bottom of the shiny black strip on the gift card. She makes a notch at the top of the tie with her knife.

"Each track is about one-tenth of an inch wide."

"About the size of a twist tie?" Ricks guesses without inflection as she moves the tie up the magnetic strip and makes another notch.

"Got it in one." She grins and, God, does it feel good. _Doing something_ feels good.

"The first two tracks," She continues her explanation as she uses a ruler to guide her knife, cutting away the first row of black, "are the only ones a card reader registers. They have your account info, name, address."

She swipes the second track through the reader. The Square should have read it before, but she has to be sure.

_Error_

Picking up her tools, she resumes her 'plastic' surgery.

"The third track is usually blank, but you can program additional data on it." _Last chance. _She runs what's left of the card through the reader.

_020505_

Veronica lets out a strangled laughing sob.

She waves Ricks off as he moves towards her.

2/5/2005. It's the date of their first kiss. He's alive. She knows he is.

She's going to find him. Then she's going to kill him.

And then she's going to cuss his brains out.

She dials the fifteen digit number again, and punches in the pin before the automation can finish saying "please."

Every muscle in her body is taut; every synapse in her brain is firing on overdrive.

The line rings. Connects.

"I see Ricks finally got that milkshake."

"Lo—Logan?"

"Hey, Babe."


End file.
